


Midnight Oil

by liketolaugh



Series: Conflict of Interest [1]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Allen feels depressed and it makes Link unhappy too, Baking, I don't know anything about baking I'm sorry, M/M, Pies, Talking late at night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allen can't sleep, and Link hates seeing him upset. Instead of dealing with it, he bakes a pie. They talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Oil

**Author's Note:**

> Translated into Russian at https://ficbook.net/readfic/4077800

Allen was awake.

It was, by Link’s estimation, at  _ least  _ one in the morning, and Allen had not slept for more than five minutes together in that entire time. “Walker, this is very bad for your health.”

He was still facing the opposite direction, but he could hear the creak of the bed as Allen jumped guiltily. “Oh… Sorry, Link. Was I keeping you up? I can keep still.”

Link sighed, sat up, and turned around to frown at Allen. “I don’t want you to keep still, Walker, I want you to go to sleep. You’re still going to have to work tomorrow, you know.”

Allen’s white hair almost glowed in the darkness, which made it all the more obvious when he curled in on himself. “Yeah, I know.”

Link’s frown deepened, a furrow appearing in his brow, blond hair spread across his shoulders in unprofessional tangles.

It had taken Link over four months of twenty-four-hour-a-day inspections to learn how to tell when Allen was upset, and even then, Link suspected that it was only because Allen had started letting his guard down a little that it was possible.

He’d started regretting the ability nearly as soon as he’d gained it. He, inexplicably,  _ hated  _ seeing Allen upset, and he never knew what to do about it; it confused him. After all, comforting Allen was not part of his job, and by all rights, he shouldn’t even care that Allen couldn’t sleep, that he would probably go through the day tomorrow dazed and exhausted.

Telling himself that did not help in the slightest, and Link knew, though he would never say it aloud, that he could not sleep while he knew Allen was lying awake.

Asking what was wrong was out of the question - Allen would certainly deny it - so Link had to take other routes. He thought about it for a moment, still frowning at Allen, who wasn’t looking at him.

“If I’m going to be up at this time of night regardless, I might as well bake,” Link announced. Though he normally preferred to read when he couldn’t sleep at night, he knew that Allen was always up for baked goods, and perhaps it would take his mind off things for long enough to sleep a few hours before morning came.

He lit a candle just in time to catch Allen’s mortified blush. “I’m sorry,” the exorcist repeated.

Link ignored this.

Wearing his pinstriped pajamas outside the bedroom was unprofessional, and so was his current general state of disarray, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment; no one would be up and about anyway. Baking the pie wouldn’t take an hour, which would leave - he glanced at the clock - five hours before they had to rise at eight o’clock if Allen went to sleep quickly.

He opened the door.

“Ah-”

The soft, hastily aborted sound made him turn his head with a frown, just in time to see Allen’s arm dropping from where it had been held out in front of him, downcast expression half-hidden with shadows that danced in the candlelight.

Link’s expression didn’t change, but there was an odd twinge in his chest.

“Come on, Walker. I can’t leave you alone in here.”

Allen brightened almost instantly, though he hid it well, and he nearly tripped over himself getting up. “O-oh, of course.”

The two of them walked, barefoot and slightly ridiculous, down the hall. At this time of night, Jerry would be asleep, but all of his ingredients would still, of course, be in the kitchen; with fresh ones coming in every day, Link knew for a fact that Jerry wouldn’t notice a little flour and sugar going missing.

For a while, Allen remained quiet, not as restless as he had been earlier, but clearly not quite at ease. His left hand was exposed, free of the usual gloves, and Link couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at it before he forcibly returned his gaze to the hall ahead. Allen didn’t notice.

“What kind?” Link asked when Allen made no move to introduce any form of conversation.

Allen started slightly, turning quizzical eyes on the CROW. “Huh?”

“What kind of pie would you like me to make?” Link elaborated without looking at him. “We both know you’ll be eating most of it.”

Allen laughed sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “Yes, that’s true. Um… Cherry?”

Allen hated cherry pie. “Are you sure?” Link asked doubtfully, unaccountably suspicious of this.

“It’s your favorite, right?” Allen turned innocent eyes on him; they gleamed in the dim light.

Now how did Allen know that? “I asked what kind of pie you wanted, not what kind I like.”

There was a short silence, just enough to make Link frown again. A glance to Allen revealed that the boy was visibly startled, and there was a small, embarrassed smile on his face, with a touch of color to his cheeks as he glanced away. He didn’t answer.

Link sighed. “I could make pumpkin,” he told the younger male, because two could play at that game; pumpkin pie was _ Allen’s  _ favorite, something he’d learned only after presenting him with that first pie. (He was fairly certain that was not the kind of information he was meant to be picking up. He learned it anyway.)

Allen gave him a small smile, one that was almost shy, but more honest than Link usually saw out of him. “Thank you.”

Something about his voice made Link’s cheeks color slightly. He looked away and, instead of answering, said, “We’re almost there,” and sped up.

Allen laughed softly and caught up just as he reached the door, opening it and slipping in. Allen closed it after him and then hovered awkwardly.

“Um…” He trailed off.

Link surmised that Allen did not know how to bake. He pointed at a counter. “Sit there.”

Allen did so. Link set the candle on a counter and then set about gathering up what he’d need, and Allen curled up to watch him. There was a hint of color on his cheeks too, now, but he was smiling softly. It made Link warm and a little uncomfortable, and he made a point of not looking at the young exorcist.

Both of them were silent for a time again, and Link used this time to think, starting on the crust with movements repeated so often they had become as automatic as the swing of his blade.

Allen was not the first suspect he had investigated, but he was the one he’d stayed with the longest. He was also by far the kindest, the politest, the most mysterious, and the hardest to understand.

In his time with the CROW, Link had all but forgotten how to make attachments. Like the exorcists, he was rarely in one place for long, even the CROW Headquarters.

But even so, he had had friends before he joined CROW, and he remembered what that felt like. And Allen… Allen was not a friend.

Friendship was not this confusing. It didn’t make him feel this conflicted. It didn’t make him feel this  _ warm,  _ didn’t make him  _ blush. _

And this was swiftly becoming a problem. Link  _ could not  _ fail in his task. He  _ would not. _

But he didn’t want to see Allen hurt. It twisted his heart in a way that he knew, instinctively, could bring him to his knees.

This conflict of interest would be the death of him. Possibly literally. This was, after all, a form of treason.

“Link, would you miss me if I was gone?”

Link’s first reaction to Allen’s abrupt question was to start slightly, and then, as he processed it, he frowned. “Why would you ask that?” he inquired instead of answering, the movement of his hands slowing to a halt.

Allen shrugged, looking pensive and more vulnerable than Link could ever recall him allowing himself to be before, at least in front of Link. “I was just thinking,” he said softly. “If I… disappeared. A lot of my friends would be sad, but…” He trailed off, and then picked it up again, strain in his voice. “Lavi has Bookman. I’m sure he’d be able to move on quickly. Lenalee has her brother and everyone here. Miranda has Lenalee, and Marie, too, now. Krory has Lavi, and you...” He shook his head. “They don’t need me. If I disappeared, it would be like I had never existed.”

Was this what had been bothering Allen the whole night?

Link’s whole body twitched with the urge to go over to Allen and do… something. Anything to make that look on his face go away, to lighten his tone until it regained its normal cheer. He suppressed it ruthlessly.

“They would miss you,” Link said, voice tight and controlled, with no room for compromise.  _ I would-  _ He suppressed that, too.

“That’s nice of you to say.” Allen chuckled, soft and sad.

Link put the ball of pie crust down and turned around, pinning Allen with a stern look that made the boy start.

“They would miss you,” Link repeated, more firmly this time, with an intensity that surprised even him. “They would remember you, because you are their friend and their comrade. You help Miss Lee bring coffee to the Science Section. You argue with Kanda almost every day. You don’t mind when Bookman Junior teases or plays pranks on you. You’re always polite to Jerry, even on your worst days. You always know how to calm Miss Lotto down. You-” He noticed Allen’s startled look and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and unsure of why he’d gotten so upset in the first place. “They would miss you.”

Allen stared at him for a while longer, and Link felt his cheeks flush. Then, finally, Allen smiled, ducking his head.

“Thank you, Link. I needed that.”

Link nodded stiffly and turned back to his work, and Allen went quiet again. This time, it only lasted a few minutes before he spoke.

“I would miss you too, Link. If you left.”

Link didn’t know what to say to that. In the end, he didn’t say anything.

Neither of them spoke again until Link put the pie in the oven, at which point Link remembered that there would be rather a while in which they had nothing to do but wait. At that point, he told Allen firmly not to leave the kitchen, and then vanished out the door. A few minutes later, he returned with a pair of books in hand. One of these, he handed to Allen, who took it and stared at it in puzzlement.

“I don’t recognize this,” he admitted sheepishly, giving Link a curious glance.

Link cleared his throat, glancing away uncomfortably. “I don’t know what kinds of books you enjoy,” he informed Allen, starting to reach up to brush his long hair out of his face, but aborting the movement. “That one is one of my own favorites. I thought you could occupy yourself with it while we wait.”

Allen smiled at him, a smile that always made Link feel oddly like he’d done something right. “I don’t read many books,” Allen admitted, opening it nonetheless. “I don’t usually get the chance. What is it about?”

Link started to tell him, in low, almost uncertain tones, but Allen never took his eyes off Link’s, nodding along to the explanation. A few minutes later, both of them settled down to read, Link keeping one eye on the clock and wondering why this felt so… comfortable.

Peace was a rare thing when you led a life of war.

* * *

 

The next morning, Link woke to find Allen asleep with the book on his chest. He carefully picked up the book and marked the page Allen had been on before he woke him. There was, after all, work to be done.


End file.
